


The Fire Bell

by wheel_pen



Series: Alice [17]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark and Alice manage to set off the fire bell at school. Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire Bell

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Alice, my original female character, is new in Smallville. There is something special about her, and she and Clark form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. This series starts after the end of the second season—after the destruction of the spaceship and Clark abruptly leaving town.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This story may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            There were so many things Clark shouldn’t be doing right now. He shouldn’t be in the dark, silent gym; he should be hurrying to his algebra class. He shouldn’t be with Alice; although his parents had stopped short of actually _saying_ he should break up with her, he knew that’s what they wanted. In which case, he _definitely_ shouldn’t be kissing her, in the gym, in the middle of the school day. And he really shouldn’t have his hands there, and there, and _there_ , but she didn’t seem to be protesting. And—wow, _shouldn’t_ went completely out the window when she did _that_ , because it felt so good he never wanted her to stop, and it was a d—n good thing neither one of them really needed to breathe because they hadn’t come up for air in a while…

            Vaguely Clark heard the bell ring for class and he knew he would be late, once again, and that Mr. Markham would really have no choice but to give him a tardy, which would be just enough this quarter to earn him a Saturday detention with Mr. Reynolds looming over him and looking at him with those eyes that said, “You’re a slacker, son,” in that disappointed way. Far from distracting him, however, the thoughts only seemed to egg Clark on more, and he ground his hips against Alice, making her moan in his ear in just that register, that _tone_ , that drove him crazy. She could certainly push him away if she wanted him to stop, but she was pulling him closer and— _s—t_ —she really really shouldn’t go _there_ if she wanted him to—

            Waaaaaaaiiiiit a minute—was it—was it— _raining_? _Inside_? And why was the class bell _still_ ringing? Unless it was—

            “ _F—k_ ,” Clark hissed, pulling back. He truly thought he was more disappointed right this second than he ever had been in his entire life.

            “The fire bell,” Alice breathed. “And the sprinklers. S—t. We better get out of here.”

            “Come on,” Clark sighed, grabbing her hand, “someone might need help.” Today, he felt, a little bit of the shine had gone off altruism.

            They slogged their way to the door—those sprinklers sure dumped a _lot_ of water—and shoved it open, sending a mini tidal wave spilling out into the hallway. Which was… completely dry. And full of staff members. Including Principal Reynolds.

            A couple of firefighters—Clark actually knew them, they bought produce from their stand at the Farmers’ Market all the time—pushed past the teenagers and entered the gym, and a moment later both the sprinklers and the fire bell stopped. Principal Reynolds’s glare, however, only intensified. And it was aimed straight at Clark.

 

            “ _Three days’ suspension?!_ ” Although there were some elements of a question in the phrase, Clark had a strong feeling that he wasn’t really supposed to say anything. One brief glance from the surface of the kitchen table to his father’s expression told him that much, and he dropped his eyes again. “For _smoking in the gym_?! What the h—l were you thinking, Clark?!”

            As usual Martha tried to play peacemaker. “Now, Jonathan, I’m sure—“

            “We weren’t smoking,” Clark corrected quietly. He hadn’t been able to convince Principal Reynolds of that, but then again he hadn’t been able to give Principal Reynolds all of his evidence.

            Jonathan just rolled his eyes. “’We,’” he repeated derisively. “You and Alice. Son, didn’t we have a talk about that, _just this morning_ , about not spending so much time with her—“

            “ _You_ talked,” Clark pointed out, gritting his teeth to keep from yelling. “You talked, and you told me what I should do, and you didn’t listen to what I had to say, and you didn’t listen to what I wanted—“

            “Clark,” his father interrupted firmly, “you _can’t always have what you want_. Now I know that’s been _difficult_ for you over the years, son, but that’s just the way it is, that’s the way it has to be.”

            Grim silence prevailed. If Clark didn’t have such control over his heat vision, he would have bored a hole right through the kitchen table. And probably the foundation of the house as well.

            Again Martha tried to ease the tension. “Clark, Alice is a very nice girl. Your father and I like her,” she assured her son. “But we don’t really know her that well, and if her own mother isn’t comfortable with your relationship…” Clark bit his lip hard. He wasn’t trying to stop himself from crying; he was trying to stop himself from saying something—a number of things—that he would regret later. The silence worried Martha; usually Clark at least had _some_ protest to make, some _reason_ for why he thought something was the right thing to do. “Well, if you weren’t smoking,” she continued, her tone lighter, “what _were_ you doing? Mr. Reynolds said the fire—or whatever it was—started in the gym…”

            “We were kissing,” Clark replied, a little defiantly.

            Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look over his head. “Kissing?” Jonathan repeated. “And that set the fire alarm off? And the sprinkler system?” Clark shrugged.

            “Is Alice alright?” Martha asked worriedly.

            “Yeah, she’s fine.” Clark turned his head in his mother’s direction, but didn’t look at her. “Did you think I’d incinerate her?” His tone was just bitter enough to make Martha wince.

            “Well anyway…” she began after a moment, standing up. “If you’re home for three days, at least you can help out around the farm.” Clark narrowly avoided rolling his eyes. Of _course_ that’s what they would think of first.

            “D—n straight,” Jonathan agreed, and Martha gave him a look that clearly said he should back off. At least, to anyone _else_ it would have been clear. Her husband, however, plopped down in a chair and propped his feet up on another one. “You’re going to work your tail off around here,” he told Clark firmly, “and _I’m_ going to take three days’ vacation.”

            Again Clark didn’t say a word, just shoved his chair back as he stood—fortunately not hard enough to do any damage—and headed up to his room. He didn’t stomp, he didn’t throw anything, he didn’t even slam his door—but a 6’4” slightly damp tower of fury didn’t need to make noise to be felt.


End file.
